The Five Times Emily Told Dave She Loved Him
by microgirl
Summary: Emily realizes she is in love with Dave and tells him...sort of...Prentiss/Rossi


_The Five Times Emily Told David She Loved Him_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone in regards to Criminal Minds; the show and its characters belong to a bunch of people who aren't me. I am merely borrowing the characters for my own amusement. Dance puppets, dance._

_Author's Note: This is in response to the prompt "five times" at the criminal_prompts community on LJ. This was the first idea I had for my my first Prentiss/Rossi story, but it took a little while for it to get on paper...or screen in this case._

_The biggest, most greatest thank you to Mingsmommy for her beta work. She did a fabulous job and an even more fabulous job with the ending. I tweaked it after she looked at the story, so those mistakes are mine, mine, mine. Reviews always make me smile, so if you have time, please leave one. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!_

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_The minute people fall in love, they become liars-Harlan Ellison_

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I.

"You sure you don't want to come?"

"Let me think about this." Emily's brow furrowed. "Spending the day traipsing through the woods, my boots covered in God-knows-what, to look for an animal I probably won't see because it blends in with the trees. Then after killing said animal, having to haul its dead, bloody carcass back to the camp site, where, we have to clean and store the corpse. And then sleeping in below zero temperatures in a thin blanket on the lumpy ground."

Dave pushed the red cooler in the bed of the truck. "Don't be ridiculous, Emily. It's warmer than that at night." He stopped to face her. "It doesn't get below fifteen degrees. And you don't have to sleep on the lumpy ground, you can sleep on me."

She rolled her eyes, standing next to the pick-up truck. She held Mudgie on his leash as Dave packed his gear for his hunting trip. He planned on leaving that evening for the weekend. He'd made half-hearted attempts through-out the work week in convincing her to come along, but they both knew she wouldn't be going.

"It's not that bad," he said, holding up the duffle bag containing the tent and poles. "I only spend one night in the tent. The rest of the time is in the cabin."

Crossing her arms, she cocked her head. "Yes. A cabin without a bathroom."

"There's an outhouse."

She pretended to consider that for all of about three seconds. "Yeah…that still doesn't count."

"Wait, wait, wait." Closing his eyes, he held up his hand in protest. "This, coming from the woman who had to use squat toilets growing up?"

She pointed at him. "Exactly. I have earned the right to a sitting toilet that flushes."

Dave chuckled. "Picky, picky."

"Besides," Emily continued, "I already have plans with Garcia this weekend. She'd be heartbroken if I passed her up for you." She smiled sweetly.

Already bent over to grab another bag, he glanced up. "No strip clubs."

She dropped her arms to her sides. "Oh, please. It'll be the two of us and JJ for dinner and drinks."

Slinging the strap over his shoulder, his eyebrows drew together. "No strip clubs."

Shaking her head, Emily watched Dave arrange various sized coolers, gear boxes, and back packs. If he didn't hate video games so much, he would probably be a champion at Tetris, she mused silently.

She didn't mind they were spending the weekend apart. Actually, she looked forward to it because she would be able to leave her dirty clothes on the bathroom floor and drink straight from the milk carton without a lecture from him. He'd gone hunting alone in the woods by himself for many years, long before they even met, but it still didn't stop her from worrying. She didn't want anything to happen to him. After all, who else would make her homemade lasagna?

When he had the last bit of equipment loaded, Dave took the leash from her and opened the passenger door for the dog. With Mudgie inside, Dave turned back to her. "Try not to miss me too much. I don't think JJ and Penelope would appreciate you crying over dinner."

She snorted. "Try not to get lost. I don't want to have to launch a search-and-rescue mission for you."

He made a short, arrogant noise. "I'm not going to get lost. I know the hunter's trick if I ever get lost."

"And what's that?"

"I just listen to the tree bark." And he laughed, _truly_ laughed, at his own joke.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she rolled her eyes at him. But despite the true lameness of the joke, she couldn't hold back her chuckle. Dave responded with a smile that highlighted the lines around his eyes. It was the smile that never failed to make her heart flutter.

But that feeling was accompanied by a slow trickle of warmth that started in her chest and flowed through the rest of her body. It felt as if she had been wrapped in a soft, fuzzy blanket, safe and secure. That's when it hit her with the subtlety of being run over by a semi-truck.

She was in love with Dave.

With bravery of parts of unknown, she also realized she wanted to tell him. So she announced, "I have to love you to put up with those lame jokes."

Her stomach dropped somewhere in the vicinity of the soles of her feet, and her grin immediately disappeared. The sound of her heart pounded loudly in her ears as the muscles in her arms froze completely.

The declaration didn't go unnoticed by Dave. Squinting his eyes, he stared at her with the same expression he reserved for Garcia's boisterous greetings.

Thank God her words came out in Arabic.

She wanted to tell him. She just didn't want him to know.

Finally, he sighed. "See now, that's just mean, Prentiss. I can't even fight back when I don't know what you're saying."

A bright, innocent smile lit her face. _He honestly didn't know_. _Dave didn't know!_ "I was trying to soften the blow of telling you that only old men tell lame jokes like that."

"You're right," he nodded. "I think I do prefer it in Arabic."

They traded goodbyes, and he hugged her tightly, giving her a gentle kiss. It would have lasted longer, but Mudgie barked excitedly, eager for his car ride.

Getting in the truck, Dave waved to her as he drove off. It wasn't until his vehicle rounded the corner, and went out of sight, that Emily exhaled a huge breath of relief.

Now that she had time to process her feelings, she could _not_ believe she loved Rossi. That wasn't how this was supposed to work. Their relationship consisted of two friends finding comfort with one another and easy, no-strings sex. _Love_ certainly had no place in it.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she slowly walked to her car. Somewhere along the way (if she were honest, it was at the beginning), she'd fallen for David Rossi. Sure, he was a curmudgeon, but he was the curmudgeon of her dreams. She managed to ignore it for months until those wonderfully scary feelings forced their way to the surface.

Sitting down, she rested her head against the steering wheel, her shoulders sagging heavily. Luckily, Emily had a multitude of languages to choose from should she ever felt the need to tell him she loved him again.

* * *

II.

Since being a Marine, Dave had been used to starting his day early. He'd routinely gotten up at five-thirty each morning. However, in the last few months he'd had trouble getting out of bed thanks to a certain female agent. As much as he enjoyed waking up with Emily's limbs plastered to him, he'd gone to bed alone last night. He needed a five-mile run this morning.

Already in a pair of navy blue sweats and a grey hooded sweatshirt, Dave turned on the small television in the kitchen as he started a pot of coffee. The gurgle of water through the machine joined the murmur of the voices from the television in the dark, quiet house. Within minutes, the fresh, strong scent of coffee filled the kitchen. He switched the channel to a local news station, and pulled a mug from the cabinet. He half-listened to the newscaster as he waited for the coffee pot to fill. Though, his ears prickled when he heard the woman say something about a fire in a Georgetown brownstone.

He turned to the screen to see a reporter standing in front of a blackened, charred building. Using the remote, he turned up the volume.

"…police do not know the cause of the fire. It started on the first floor and quickly spread through the rest of the building. Most residents suffered smoke inhalation and there were several injuries. Authorities did confirm a death, a woman from the third floor. Again we are coming to you live on the 28th street block in Georgetown."

Dave's heart pounded like a kettledrum as he lost feeling in his arms and legs. His breaths came in extremely shallow. The reporter's words echoed in his head. _Fire. Injuries. Death. Woman from the third floor._ _28__th__ block_.

Emily picked the brownstone on that block because she loved the view of the nation's capital.

He sprinted back upstairs, his hands shaking as he picked up his cell phone, dialing Emily's number. When he got her voicemail greeting, his heart sank. If anything happened to her, he'd probably end up like John McHale; listening to an endless loop of her recorded voice.

Practically jumping down the last few steps, Dave flew out the door to his car. He raced all the way to Georgetown, barely touching the brake pedal. As he approached 28th street and saw the flashing red and blue lights, he clenched his jaw tightly. When he rounded the corner, his chest exploded. Barrages of emergency vehicles were parked in front of a blackened building on the right. Emily lived about six buildings down on the left side.

He swerved back around to come up the street from the opposite end as it didn't appear that side had been blocked off. It didn't matter that he'd gone up the one-way street from the wrong direction and double parked in front of her building.

Yanking the keys out of the ignition, he slammed the car door with a loud thud. Dave didn't bother with the elevator, dashing up the stairs. He breathed heavily by the time he made it to her door. He unlocked the dead bolt with the key she'd given him only to find the chain in place. He considered just breaking through, but remembered she slept with a gun by the bed. Instead, he began pounding on the door.

"Emily!" he called out. "Emily! Open up!" He banged his fist on the wood repeatedly while shouting her name.

An interminable time later, he finally heard her footsteps approaching the door.

"David," she hissed through the door crack. "What the hell are you doing? You're going to wake the whole building." The door closed and he heard the chain rattled against the wood as she removed from its holder.

She forcefully pulled the door open, and Dave was greeted with an exhausted Emily Prentiss. Slightly hunched, her mussed hair spilled all over her shoulders. Her eyelids drooped heavily over her bloodshot eyes. She looked completely annoyed; she was never a more welcome sight to him.

Rubbing her forehead wearily, she sighed. "Unlike you, the world doesn't exist for me at this hour on the weekends, so if you plan on dragging me on one of your runs, I swear to God I will-"

He never got to hear the rest of her threat as he hauled her into his arms. Burying his nose in her hair, he inhaled the apple scent, and felt his insides start to calm. He didn't know he held her so tightly until she groaned and coughed his name.

"Sorry," he said, loosening his grip, but not letting her go. They stood there for several moments as he kept one arm around her shoulder and the other around her waist.

"David?" her tone sounded tentative. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

Taking in a breath, he swallowed. "I was watching the news, and heard about an apartment fire in the neighborhood, and I thought…" his voice caught in his throat, remembering the images from the screen of the people with ash ridden faces, strapped to gurneys. "I just…I _had_ to see you."

She melted into him, and he sighed at the feeling of her skin. Burying her face into his neck, her lips moved against him. The words were muffled, but they definitely didn't resemble English; the vowels sounded more pronounced, particularly the "a's". He guessed it was Russian.

It wasn't the first time she slipped into another language around him. She probably just called him an idiot or something of the like because he practically banged down her door. He didn't care; at least he was still her idiot.

* * *

III.

Being on the road for most of their work forced the team to eat their meals from grease stained paper bags so no matter how tired he felt, Dave mustered up the energy to make a home cooked meal when they were back in Quantico. In the past he'd eaten alone, leaving plenty of food to re-heat at another time. Lately, though, he'd found himself with fewer leftovers. Emily had dinner (and breakfast) with him more often now. A pleasant smile had settled on his face whenever she came over. He didn't realize how much he enjoyed having another person to cook for, especially if the other person was her.

Tonight he'd chosen to make meatloaf. She sat across from him at the counter, sipping a glass of water, while he mixed the ground beef, onions, ketchup, and other ingredients with his bare hands. They talked about one of his upcoming book promotions.

"How many cities do they have you scheduled in?" Emily asked.

"Four," Dave replied, kneading the meat. "Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh. My publisher wanted a trip to Cleveland, but there wasn't enough time to fit it in with my annual leave."

Emily heaved a dramatic sigh. "Theresa will be so disappointed she won't be able to see you. After all, you are just so intelligent and handsome," she repeated the description he'd been told when the bookstore owner had cornered him at his hotel.

"You forgot charming." He started forming the loaf in the glass baking dish. "No, she was disappointed when I told her my incredibly handsome, intelligent, charming self was already spoken for." Looking pointedly at Emily, he waggled his eyebrows.

Now she groaned. "Oh, lucky me."

A comfortable silence passed between them while he thoroughly washed his hands. The quiet broke when Mudgie's tags jingled, signaling his appearance in the room. Instead of going to the kitchen as he usually did when Dave cooked, the dog came to sit next to Emily. She leaned down to rub his ears, and Mudgie's tail hammered against the wood floor.

Before getting a bowl from the cabinet behind him, Dave caught a glance of Emily taking a slice of bread from a plate on the counter. When he turned back she slowly picked off pieces, and ate them. He stirred the mashed potatoes on the stove, and pretended not to notice as she acted as if she rested the hand holding some bread in her lap. It might have been convincing had he not heard the smacking of Mudgie's mouth.

"Mudgie will be disappointed by your absence." Her eyebrow rose in question. "Do you put him in one of those luxury kennels where he gets doggy massages and dinner served in crystal bowls?"

Dave chuckled. "Actually I wanted to ask if you would take care of him on my trip."

She blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah," he nodded, grinding some pepper into the potatoes. "You already know his routine." He faced her, his hands resting on the granite counter. "And you could stay here at the house. I know you'd be here by yourself, but the neighbors help keep an eye on the place when I'm gone and Mudgie's a pretty good watch dog."

Her forehead wrinkled, staring down at where the dog stood. "Yeah, I can tell."

Peering over the counter, he saw his beloved pet turning in circles, chasing his tail with his mouth open. When Mudgie finally caught the elusive body part, he started chewing on it in earnest.

Dave met Emily's disbelieving eyes, and the side of her mouth lifted in an adorably crooked smile.

"He's just conserving his skills for the night watch," he said, but even that reasoning sounded weak to his own ears.

"Uh huh."

He blew out a disgusted breath. So much for man's best friend. "Do you mind watching him? Even if he is chewing on himself while you're fending off an intruder?"

Leaving Mudgie in Emily's care had come surprisingly easy to him. She had made fast friends with his dog, allowing herself to be essentially vacuumed by his nose the first time she came to the house. Unlike his second wife, Emily didn't threaten to put Mudgie in a shelter when he chewed up her favorite sneakers. The day after, Dave found her playing fetch with the canine in the backyard.

And Mudgie greeted her with booming barks and flopped down on her feet when they ate at the table.

He could tell she was genuinely delighted because her grin reached her ears. "I'd be happy to take care of him."

Returning her bright smile with one of his own, he thanked her. She replied in another language, the vowels sounding strong and short.

His expression must have mirrored his confusion because she clarified, stammering a little, "Th-that's Hebrew, for 'you're welcome.'"

Dave nodded absently as he added a bag of frozen vegetables to a pot.

* * *

IV.

Dave had spent most of his life dealing with stubborn people. Police officers who rejected his advice on cases after they'd requested his consultation. Serial killers that remained silent for years, refusing to give up the location of their victims' bodies. Military officers and unit directors.

But none of those people compared to the stubbornness of Emily Prentiss; because even though her skin looked incredibly pale and she kept shivering, she still tried to convince him she wasn't sick.

She sniffled. "I'm fine, Dave. I'm just a little stuffed up."

Laying the back of his hand on her forehead, he frowned. "I don't know. It feels like you have a fever."

"I'm fine," she batted his hand away. "Besides, I have that phone conference with the prosecutor from Tulsa this afternoon."

"I think she'll understand if you're out sick." But he cringed as soon as the words left his mouth, because he knew what was coming.

Sure enough, she shot him a withering stare. "I am _not_ staying home." She coughed, but went on as if it hadn't happened. "I just need a cup of coffee." Placing a hand over her stomach, she swallowed thickly as if trying to suppress the disgust over the thought of food or liquid.

He had to bite the inside of cheek to keep from pushing. Dave knew perfectly well that she would try to go into the office being sick. Hell, he heard she'd worked a case in Chicago when she had. He knew Emily didn't like showing weakness, but that didn't mean she needed to infect the rest of the team in the process.

It was time to fight dirty. He hated to do it, but he was left with no other choice. "Okay," he conceded. "Do you just want coffee? I can cook breakfast."

She covered her mouth, but Dave didn't stop. "Do you want thick, buttery pancakes?" He took a step closer to her. "Or how about some fried eggs? I can make them so when you cut into the center you get that bright yellow, runny yolk that never really stays on the fork."

She lasted about three microseconds before she pushed him out of the way, running down the hall way to the bathroom. Looking up at the ceiling, he shook his head in frustration before taking off after her.

Emily was already on her knees, her head over the toilet when he got there. Sitting behind her, Dave pulled her hair out of her face while he made long, soothing strokes up and down her back with his other hand.

After a few minutes, she pulled back, moaning. "I really hate you."

"I know you do," he replied easily. "And now you'll hate me all day, right?" He gave her a gentle pointed look that implied _she_ would be staying home and _he_ would be the one taking care of her.

Closing her eyes, her face stayed pinched with illness and discomfort. It made his stomach clench a little to see her like that.

Finally, she nodded weakly.

He slowly brought her to her feet. "If it'll make you feel better, you can whine and complain at me and make me wait on you hand and foot."

She managed a small chuckle. "I was going to do that anyway."

He led her back up to his bedroom. There, he helped her change into one of his Coney Island t-shirts and a pair of sweats before tucking her under the comforter. After making their respective phone calls that they wouldn't be in (Dave luckily had a set of appointments that would keep him out of the office all day), he set to work.

Unfortunately she got worse during the day, with more rushed trips to the bathroom where he helped her each time. When he tried to bring her dry toast and Gatorade later, she took one look at the plate and glass before turning away from him.

As her temperature had gone up, he'd brought her a cold washcloth to place against her forehead, but it did little to cool her heated skin. Despite being buried beneath sheets, a comforter, and a heavy blanket, she still shivered as if she didn't have a coat in twenty degree weather.

Without much consideration, he crawled into bed, pulling her trembling body to him.

"Dave, you are going to get so sick." She snuggled closer to him.

Running a hand through her sweat dampened hair, he felt her labored breathing against his neck. "Well, then you can take care of me. You can even wear one of those cute nurse's uniforms."

Huffing, she poked him in the stomach.

She quietly asked him if he would turn on the new television that sat above his dresser. The remote in hand, he found a station with some kind of chick flick marathon. He settled back, and spent the afternoon watching movies with her.

When yet another movie with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks started, he went to rise to get Emily more Gatorade, but her arms tightened around his middle. Her eyes closed, she sighed before speaking. Her words were muttered against the fabric of his shirt, but he recognized the accent as Italian. Even sick, she could still concentrate enough to speak another language. The sentence, though, made his heart stagger and nearly stop.

"_Tì amo._"

Emily…loved him.

He'd wondered for a long time what she'd been really saying when she slipped into other languages. It just hadn't added up at the time. His profiling skills had told him she probably was hiding something, but he dismissed it. And now it all made amazing, terrifying sense. The hand that had been rubbing her arm stopped, and he tried to control his breathing. The words repeated over and over in his head. She loved him. _She loved him_.

If he'd learned anything from his past relationships, it was many women expected some sort of response to that declaration. He needed to think about how he felt and fast.

During his last marriage, his wife had fallen ill with a severe sinus cold. She'd begged and pleaded that he stay home to take of her; it meant she'd be ringing a little bell every minute and he'd be doing everything short of wiping her nose. But he'd balked because he had an upcoming lecture series he didn't want to cancel. He ended up calling his sister-in-law while he spent time away from his wife in an effort not to get sick.

With Emily, he hadn't thought twice about staying home and even less so when he climbed into bed next to her. Given their proximity, Dave felt certain he was going to have to cancel the meeting with his publisher, who wanted to offer him a lucrative deal for the book he currently worked on.

At his realization, his heart raced insanely and adrenaline pumped through his veins. He felt as if he were on the roller coaster his friend Gil had dragged him on; at the peak of the hill, about to plummet to Earth. He chuckled breathlessly to himself. Dave always figured when this moment came he would tell Emily how he felt just before running away. It was a tactic that served him well since he turned ten years old. Though, it was a little difficult with a sick woman pressed against him.

Taking a fortifying breath, he tried to settle his nerves that remained in overdrive. In a quiet voice, he started, "Emily…"

But the deep, even breathing from his chest told him she'd already fallen asleep.

* * *

V.

Emily never had a reason to savor Sunday mornings. She sometimes would sleep in, maybe make a breakfast that didn't involve pouring cereal into a bowl. Occasionally she'd linger in bed with her coffee and a book. But the majority of the time she'd wake up by eight-thirty and then be off to one of the museums she'd already visited a hundred times before; usually alone.

Now, she really understood the pleasures of a Sunday morning, her reason lying behind her, snoring, and drooling a little even. David Rossi certainly had his charms. Despite the fact he owned pajamas that cost more than a pair of designer shoes, she loved when chose to go to bed in nothing a but a pair of old New York Giants sweat pants. It reminded her he was still a regular guy. Mostly though, she relished in the feeling of his warm skin surrounding her while she slept.

His arm tightening around her waist, he nuzzled his face into the back of her neck. She sighed contently in return. Then in slow, flawless movements, as if they had done it for years, Emily rolled on her back while Dave rose over her.

Bending down, he gave her a sweet, gentle kiss, causing her to hum in pleasure.

He pulled back with a small smile. "Good morning."

"Hi," Her fingers ran through the hair over his ears,

He cocked his head. "No foreign greeting this morning?"

"Oh." Casting her eyes downward, she did her best not to blush. She met his gaze again. "Buenos dìas."

"That's it?" he asked in disbelief. "I'm used to better words than that."

"You want something _better_ than 'good morning?'"

"I've gotten it several times over the last few weeks." He shrugged, "I figured this time it would be a good way to start the day."

She huffed. "What are you talking about?

Bringing his face down to where their noses almost touched, Dave's voice lowered. "I _know_ what you've been talking about."

Emily sucked in a shuddering breath. Why in the world did she think she could get away with it? Of course the world's leading profiler would start to wonder why she only spoke short foreign phrases to him. She gave herself a mental head smack; falling in love apparently caused her to make stupid decisions.

She cleared her throat, pretending to be engrossed with a loose thread on the blanket. "I…uh…I've wanted to…I mean, I didn't mean to-"

But he gently cut her off. "I've wanted to tell you something too."

Swallowing heavily, she braced herself. She knew what was coming: he wanted to keep their relationship no-strings; it wasn't a good idea to get serious because they were colleagues; this had been their agreement all along.

Instead, he told her in that low, delicious tone, "La scimmia mangia le banane nella giungla."

The breath she'd been holding came out rushed. Her mouth dropped open. At first she thought she hadn't heard him correctly. But humor danced in his brown eyes as his lips slowly lifted into a grin.

"_That's_ what you wanted to tell me?" she practically yelled.

"What?" he asked as if he had done absolutely nothing wrong. "I thought I'd try the romantic foreign language thing too."

"Yeah, well it doesn't really work when the person actually knows the language." She pushed him hard enough to make him fall back to his side of the bed. "Jackass." While he continued to laugh, she rolled back to her side, stealing all of the covers.

She very maturely wrapped the blankets and sheets around her so they hid her face. He should've been grateful, the idiot. She wanted to tell Dave she loved him without him freaking out and having a heart attack. She did him favor. And now he made fun of her…jackass.

After what seemed like forever, she felt the mattress shift and his weight press into her back. She tried to wrap herself up tighter, but he managed to pull enough of the covers away to expose her ear.

"I'm sorry about that. It wasn't really what I wanted to tell you." He inhaled deeply. Coming closer, she felt the coarse hairs of his goatee against her ear. "Tì amo, Emily," he whispered. "I love you."

It was never really a good sign to doubt everything she heard, but she couldn't help it. "Really?" Her voice shook.

He nodded against her. "Really."

The quiet words went from her ear and rushed through her veins, leaving the most welcome warmth in its wake. Her body tingled with a surge of happiness she hadn't felt since…well, ever.

Gradually turning around, she caught the briefest glance of his eyes. "Thank you," she said softly.

He smirked. "Not quite the answer I thought I'd get."

She closed her eyes, trying to find the bravery she'd been using. For several minutes, she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart, both from nervousness and knowing that _he loved her_. Finally, Emily licked her lips. Out of self preservation, she started in Arabic, but Dave interrupted her again.

He looped a strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I just hear you say it? Just once."

Now she tried to stop trembling. She moved her head up and down with such small movements, that she hoped he understood. Pressing her face into his neck, she murmured, "I love you."

They both stayed silent for a long time, and she finally pulled back enough to look at him. She found him staring around the room. "What are you doing?"

The corners of his lips tipped up. "Just making sure the world hasn't ended."

She rolled her eyes. "I repeat: Jackass."

He softly kissed the edge of her jaw. "And I repeat: Tì amo." Then another. "Je t'aime." A small kiss to her neck. "Ana b'hebbek." A press of his lips to the line where her earlobe touched the side of her face. "Ya lyublyu tebya." Gently, his mouth touched her ear. "Aní ohév otákh."

"Dave?" she sighed as her arms wound around his neck.

"Hmmm?" His tongue traced the shell of her ear.

She turned her head, aligning her mouth with his. "You talk too much."

The rest of the morning no words were spoken. But so much was said.

The End


End file.
